下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
Frank was recalled to business the next day by the following letter from Flatbush:
Dear Mr. Etheridge :
It has been discovered this afternoon that Mr. Huckins has left town. When he went or where he has gone, no one seems to know. Indeed, it was supposed that he was still in the house, where he has been hiding ever since the investigations were over, but a neighbor, having occasion to go in there to-day, found the building empty, and all of Mr. Huckins' belongings missing. I thought you would like to know of this disappearance.
Yours truly,
A. W. Seney .
As this was an affair for the police, Frank immediately returned to New York; but it was not many days before he was back again in Marston, determined to see Miss Cavanagh once more, and learn if his suit was as really hopeless as it appeared. He brought a box of some beautiful orchids with him, and these he presented to Miss Emma as being the one most devoted to flowers.
Hermione looked a little startled at his presence, but Mrs. Lovell, the dear old lady who was paying them a visit, smiled gently upon him, and he argued well from that smile, knowing that it was not without its meaning from one whose eyes were so bright with intelligence as her's.
The evening was cool for summer, and a fire had been lighted in the grate. By this fire they all sat and Frank, who was strangely happy, entertained the three recluses with merry talk which was not without a hidden meaning for one of the quiet listeners. When the old aunt rose and slipped away, the three drew nearer, and the conversation became more personal. At last—how was it done—Emma vanished also, and Frank, turning to utter some witty speech, found only Hermione's eyes confronting him in the fire-glow. At once the words faltered on his tongue, and leaning forward he reached out his hand, for she was about to rise also.
"Do not rob me of this one moment," he prayed. "I have come back, you see, because I could not stay away. Say that it does not anger you; say that I may come now and then and see your face, even if I may not hope for all that my heart craves."
"Do I look angry?" she asked, with a sad smile.
"No," he whispered; "nor do you look glad."
"Glad," she murmured, "glad"; and the bitterness in her tone revealed to him how strong were the passions that animated her. "I have no business with gladness, not even if my own fate changed. I have forfeited all joy, Mr. Etheridge; and that I thought you understood."
"You speak like one who has committed a crime," he smiled; "nothing else should make you feel as you do."
She started and her eyes fell. Then they rose suddenly and looked squarely into his. "There are other crimes than those which are marked by blood," said she. "Perhaps I am not altogether guiltless."
Frank shuddered; he had expected her to repel the charge which he had only made in the hopes of showing her into what a morbid condition she had fallen.
"My hands are clean," she went on, "but my soul is in shadow. Why did you make me speak of it? You are my friend and I want to keep your friendship, but you see why it must not grow into love; must not I say, for both our sakes. It would be fatal."
"I do not see that," he cried impetuously. "You do not make me see it. You hint and assert, but you tell me nothing. You should give me facts, Hermione , and then I could judge whether I should go or stay."
She flushed, and her face, which had been lifted to his, slowly sank.
"You do not know what you ask of me," she murmured.
"I know that I have asked you to be my wife."
"And it was generous of you, very generous. Such generosity merits confidence, but—Let us talk of something else," she cried. "I am not fit—not well enough, I mean, to speak of serious matters to-night. Tell me about your affairs. Tell me if you have found Harriet Smith."
"No," he returned, greatly disappointed, for there had been something like yielding in her manner a moment before. "There is no Harriet Smith, and I do not even know that there is a Hiram Huckins, for he too has disappeared and cannot be found."
"Hiram Huckins?"
"Yes, her brother and the brother of Mrs. Wakeham, whose will has made all this trouble. He is the heir who will inherit her property if Harriet Smith or her children cannot be found, and as the latter contingency is not likely to happen, it is odd that he should have run away without letting us know where he can be found."
"Is he a good man?"
"Hardly. Indeed I consider him a rascal; but he has a good claim on the property, as I have already said, and that is what angers me. A hundred thousand dollars should not fall into the hands of one so mean and selfish as he is."
"Poetic justice is not always shown in this world. Perhaps if you found the true heirs, you would find them also lacking in much that was admirable."
"Possibly; but they would not be apt to be as bad as he is."
"Is he dishonest?"
"I do not like to accuse him, but neither would I like to trust him with another man's money."
"That is unfortunate," said she. "And he will really have this money if you do not find any nearer heirs?"
"Certainly; his name follows theirs in the will."
"It is a pity," she observed, rising and moving towards the harp. "Do you want to hear a song that Emma composed when we were happier than we are now?"
"Indeed I do," was his eager reply. "Sing, I entreat you, sing; it will make me feel as if the gloom was lifting from between us."
But at this word, she came quickly back and sat down in her former place by the fire.
"I do not know what came over me," said she; "I never sing." And she looked with a severe and sombre gaze into the flames before her.
"Hermione, have you no right to joy, or even to give joy to others?"
"Tell me more about the case that is interesting you. Supposing you found Harriet Smith or her children?"
"I would show them the will and put them in the way of securing their fortune."
" I should like to see that will."
"Would you?"
"Yes, it would interest me."
"You do not look very interested."
"Do I not? Yet I am, I assure you."
"Then you shall see it, or rather this newspaper copy of it which I happen to have in my pocket-book."
"What, that little slip?"
"I thought a will was something ponderous."
"Sometimes it is, but this is short and very much to the point; it was drawn up in haste."
"Let me take it," said she.
She took it and carried it over to the lamp. Suddenly she turned about and her face was very white.
"What odd provision is this," she cried, "about the heir being required to live a year in the house where this woman died?"
"Oh," said he, "that is nothing; any one who inherits this money would not mind such a condition as that. Mrs. Wakeham wanted the house fitted up, you see. It had been her birthplace."
Hermione silently handed him back the slip. She looked so agitated that he was instantly struck by it.
"Why are you affected by this?" he cried. "Hermione, Hermione, this is something to you !"
She roused herself and looked calmly at him, shaking her head.
"You are mistaken," she declared. "It is nothing to me."
"To some one you know, then,—to your sister?"
"How could it be anything to her, if not to me?"
"True; I beg your pardon; but you seem to feel a personal disappointment."
"You do not understand me very well," said she, and turned towards the door in welcome of her sister, who just then came in. She was followed by Doris with a tray on which were heaped masses of black and white cherries in bountiful profusion.
"From our own trees," said Emma, as she handed him a plate.
He made his acknowledgments, and leaned forward to take the cherries which Doris offered him.
"Sir," whispered that woman, as she pushed into view a little note which she held in her hand under the tray, "just read this, and I won't disobey you again. It's something you ought to know. For the young ladies' sakes do read it, sir."
He was very angry, and cast her a displeased look, but he took the note. Hermione was at the other end of the room, and Emma was leaning over her aunt, so the action was not seen; but he felt guilty of a discourtesy for all that, and ate his cherries with a disturbed mind. Doris, on the contrary, looked triumphant, and passed from one to the other with a very cheerful smile.
When Frank arrived home he read that note. It was from Doris herself, and ran thus:
"Something has happened to the young ladies. They were to have had new dresses this month, and now they say they must make the old ones do. There is less too for dinner than there was, and if it were not for the fruit on our trees we would not have always enough to eat. But that is not the worst; Miss Emma says I shall have to leave them, as they cannot pay me any longer for my work. As if I would leave them, if I starved! Do, do find out what this means, for it is too much to believe that they are going to be poor with all the rest they have to endure."
Find out what it meant! He knew what it meant; they had sacrificed their case, and now they must go hungry, wear old clothes, and possibly do their own work. It made him heart-sick; it made him desperate; it made him wellnigh forget her look when she said: "Our friendship must not grow into love, must not , I say, for both our sakes. It would be fatal."
He resolved to see Hermione the next morning, and, if possible, persuade her to listen to reason, and give up a resolve that endangered both her own and her sister's future comfort.